hard days. in Drifter in Zion
- June 24, 2019, 1:38 p.m.
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- Public
Postpartum life always comes at me in a rage of anxious hormones and irrational thinking. Typical me is already a chronic worrier, but this is a new level of disquieted reasoning; it’s lonely – my personal grey room.
After baby, people want rainbows and roses and a smile 24/7. They want to hear about dimples and coos and tiny toes, not about the lack of sleep, or the sudden mental upheaval that happens to most women. To me.
I joke about it, but really, anxiety can be debilitating. There are times it thumps angrily against my chest, until my throat tightens and hands shake, until the room spins, and I feel a lot like Alice, when she’s grown ten times too tall; I feel ridiculous, misplaced, and bit unhinged.
This is onset by worry. So much worrying. I worry about stupid things: being late to appointments, my postpartum body, the man in the attic (long story). I worry about everyday things: are the doors locked, is the house clean, is dinner okay? I worry about life things: am I good enough for my kids, am I good enough for my husband, am I even a good dog owner?
I worry about worrying.
I know I’m not alone. Postpartum anxiety/depression seems fairly commonplace, yet still hush-hush. Not that I believe we need to air our personal business like a Broadway production. I just – I want the stigma to fade. I want women who feel flustered and shamed and lost to know it’s okay to talk if they need to, because what they’re experiencing isn’t disgraceful. It’s just life.
And sometimes life is hard.
So hard.
And it’s okay to acknowledge it’s hard.
It’s okay to acknowledge it’s hard.
You’re allowed to feel frustrated by the lack of sleep. You’re allowed to cry with your baby, or cry alone in a hot bath. You’re allowed to take a deep breath, and not worry about the dirty laundry or dishes waiting to be put away. You’re allowed to say, “Today is hard.”
You’re allowed to do those things.
Super mom’s aren’t all that super. We’re just regular people, trying to figure it out a moment at a time.
And that’s okay, too.
DE_imisseditagain ⋅ June 24, 2019
💯
•kitkat• ⋅ June 26, 2019
huge hugs Motherhood is hard and anyone who doesn't care about the reality of it is just an asshat. I don't think I suffered from PPD when my daughter was born, but I think I most certainly did when my son was born.
I've never really talked about it in detail but to a handful of people but it was probably one of the darkest times in my recent life. It's been over 7 years now and I still have nightmares.
And the worrying hasn't gone away. In fact, I think (for me, anyway) it's just gotten worse over time as the kids get older. The things I worry about change and those changes make it worse. Throw all that on top of being someone who already deals with anxiety on a daily basis and it's just. not. good.
DrifterinZion •kitkat• ⋅ June 26, 2019
Amen to this.
PPD is weird. I didn’t experience it with my daughter, but both of my boys - oh man, it’s been tough. The anxiety is ridiculous.
Also, you used asshat. We are now friends. 😂
•kitkat• DrifterinZion ⋅ June 27, 2019
Asshat is a choice word of mine. I just it a lot. I also use douche nugget, too. I like the funny words.